The Girl in the Window Pt. 03

I smiled. What a ride it had been! Less than an hour ago, I had been a billionaire heiress in her orange Lamborghini. If this had been real, I'd be terrified by how completely they had stripped me of everything I had ever had and had effortlessly turned me into just another Pleasure Sut rolling around in the sand. Their rigid adherence to procedures and ruthless efficiency made the idea of escape laughable. Fortunately, this was MY game, and with Brad as my failsafe, sure-fire backstop I could sit back, laugh, and admire the rapidity and completeness of my transformation. Not to mention enjoying the fantasy of being slave meat up for auction.

We had agreed that no one who knew me would bid on me, so my price wouldn't be inflated by who I once was. I took pride in the fact that I had, as the slaver said, "Fetched good coin" while still being sold as nothing but raw slave pussy. The redhead sitting next to Agatha dressed in riding gear might have known who I was, if indeed she was Lois from the pony ranch, and if Agatha had told her that I was her despised daughter-in-law. I thought she had, but it was clear from the woman's very officious and professional appraisal of my naked body that she wasn't bidding on me as friend!

The redheaded woman in riding boots had an obvious professional interest that puzzled me, for at 5'3, I'm hardly a good candidate for a pony girl. I had run cross country in college, and her careful assessment of my block moves reminded me very much of my lesbian college coach. I wasn't fast, but I had trained hard, and the coach had admired my "steadiness", "determination", and "good wind." The fact that she always gave me feedback while I was naked in the shower reminded me very much of what I had experienced today.

But I had really fetched good coin! Slave Yoga be damned, my friends in New York would be SO jealous. Lois, or whoever my new master would have been, would be disappointed, as anyone who bet against me usually did. Maybe I'd send them some roses and a card to chew on every few months, to make sure they never forgot the girl in the window, the girl who got away.

Yes, it had been scary, but also hot, and FUN! After performing in my penthouse window, in front of an imaginary audience, performing for real buyers had been a TOTAL rush. The sheer adrenaline of my few moments on the block had literally overwhelmed me, Better yet, I had beaten Agatha, once and for all. Yes, she had humiliated me, but I was already plotting the countless ways I was going to bring down my vengeance on her. She had revealed herself to be the mean, spiteful, domineering mommy bitch, and, as humiliating as it was, I had revealed what Brad saw in me, for the whole world to see. When Brad chose me over her, it would cut the apron strings for good, leaving my plotting, scheming mother-in-law to stew in her own bile.

All around me, the business of The Big D ground on, with wranglers purposely attending to their duties, moving inventory through the system. They walked past me with barely a glance. Why should they pay me any attention? I had been sold, and now I was simply another caged girl on an industrial, black wire rack containing dozens of naked, caged girls.

I fingered the padlock on my cage door. It was a cheap, bolt action lock, far cheaper than the one I used on the $25,000 bicycle I rode around Central Park. I guessed this lock cost $3, although probably less for the Big D, as they bought them in bulk Any one of the minimum-wage dufuses walking past me could have freed me with a twist of a skeleton key, but in my present circumstances, the dime-a-dozen bolt was as unimpregnable as Fort Knox.

One of the parts of the experience that had both surprised and thrilled me was how, once I had been stripped naked, simple off-the-shelf items had rendered me utterly helpless. In my training with Master Mark, the girls and I had always used the very finest equipment, but The Big D had a very different esthetic--cheap, functional, no frills. Together my collar, tracking chip, cattle tag, and cage/lock combo cost far, far less than the tip I had left for my spa treatment at the Four Seasons that morning.

Feeling the part of a helpless animal, I took the bolt lock in my mouth and gave it a good chew, enjoying my last few moments of playing slave girl. My perfect, pearly white teeth, which had cost thousands to perfect, were no match for the $3 Master Lock.

As I chewed on the lock like a teething puppy, my thoughts drifted back to Agatha. One thing was certain: the power dynamic between us had changed forever. She had truly made me her bitch, and made me paint the pole, and watched me roll in the sand on the block. She hadn't taken any pictures, which made me wonder if there was a professional film she could purchase, which she could pull out at any family or social gathering when she wanted to humiliate me. Or, perhaps, thinking that she was done with me, she simply hadn't felt the need to bother with mementos.

When she wiggled her fingers inside of me, Agatha making it clear that I was nothing but meat to her, a commodity to be bought and sold. She had enjoyed reducing me to the status of an animal, but I had enjoyed it too. Brad was right: the only way to truly measure a girl's worth was her gavel price. True, the economy was good, and with fewer bankruptcies and labor shortages, prices were up. But I had fetched good coin, and I knew that Agatha was secretly jealous. The auctioneer had summarized it well when he said, "the market's tight, but so's her pussy," something Agatha had confirmed with firsthand experience.

Munch, munch, munch! Biting through the half inch of steel was clearly impossible, but still I continued. Slave girls can be so silly!

Where was Brad, anyway? If he'd gone to have lunch with Agatha and her friend, leaving me here to jill off in my cage, I'd cut him off for a month.

Speaking of which, I wish he would hurry and get here. We made his momma happy by showing what a skank I can be, I got a lifetime of memories of being sold at auction, but now I want to go. I mean, I'm exhausted, sweaty, and there's little grains of sand everywhere I was wet--between my thighs, my butt cheeks, my boobs--everywhere. Sigh. I suppose Brad won't be happy until he takes me on another naked perp walk back to his car, but after that I need a shower, a good meal, and a long sleep. I'm too tired to even enjoy sex right now.

Giggle. I just imagined what a great story it would be if he DIDN'T come to set me free. I've given him power of attorney not only over my body but if I'm incapacitated--and being naked and cuffed in a slave market is the next best thing to being incapacitated, because I can't do anything or go anywhere. Somewhere I recall him saying that a person who is enslaved is legally dead, which would mean... naw, he wouldn't use all those papers to just collect my auction price and keep all the property while somebody enslaved me. Where else is he going to find a prime-rated slut who will play slave games with him for free like I do?

Still, I would feel a little better if he showed up and took me out of here. I'm tired, fun's over, let's go home.

Finally! I hear someone walking down the corridor of cages, probably headed my way. Time to keep up the slave act one more time--face the gate, thighs wide apart, fingers interlocked behind my neck, looking at the floor like a good slave.

Click, click, jangle--the gate is unlocked. Out of the corner of my eye, I see it's "my" wrangler, the huge Black guy who's been controlling me all day. I put a small smile on my face, thanking him for his attention. Only, where the heck is Brad? Oh, well, maybe I'm meeting him out front. I don't really want to be walked around with my hands cuffed behind my back again, but everyone's already seen everything my mother taught me to cover up (and his mother wanted to see), so what's the difference?

"Stand, Back Hands." I obey promptly, letting him cuff me and connect a leash to that darn collar.

"OK, Slut. Your new Master wants to document your Prime rating by getting you branded as a real Sandy Foot Girl. Come along."

Wait a minute--WHAT new master? Did he say BRANDED??

(To be continued)